


With Bolts of Bones (and Manacled Hands)

by sealdog



Category: Borderlands
Genre: (sort of), Blood, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Medical Experimentation, Starvation, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-01 21:21:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5221238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sealdog/pseuds/sealdog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing about the bloodsuckers was that, by themselves, they were kind of the least intimidating critters Pandora has to offer. Seriously, what kind of species survived by infecting other species?</p><p>His point being, the bloodsuckers were, as a parasitic species, really pathetically easy to wipe out.</p><p>Well, <i>mostly</i> wipe out.</p><p>---</p><p>aka vampire au rhack but not..with actual...vampires. sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for medical experimentation and bad science overall. Also Jack being not very nice lmao.
> 
> Trish asked for vampire rhack porn, and I ended up making an entire au sorry ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ porn will come!! ...eventually.
> 
> warnings will be added for each chapter. lmk if i miss any out!

The thing about the bloodsuckers was that, by themselves, they were kind of the least intimidating critters Pandora has to offer. Seriously, what kind of species survived by infecting other species? The _real_ problem came when they infected species that were already problems. Ever seen a bloodsucking thresher maw? That, _that_ was some terrifying shit. Jack’s not an easy man to scare, but he’d happily give up his entire advertising department in exchange for never having to encounter one of those things, ever again.

To be fair, his advertising department is pretty shit anyway, so no big loss there.

His point being, the bloodsuckers were, as a parasitic species, really pathetically easy to wipe out.

Well, _mostly_ wipe out.

Jack’s got some bloodsucking varkids buzzing around somewhere in R&D, giving his scientists mini heart attacks and costing him a small city’s ransom every quarter to keep contained. Still, Maliwan had to get their transfusion tech from _somewhere_ , and half of his Maliwan-defeating-team (official name still in the works) has assured him that they will be able to engineer a competitive product based on the bloodsucking varkids within the next two months. The other half has assured him that they will be able to reverse-engineer Maliwan’s tech directly, _also_ within the next two months. The fact that Jack’s promised to let the faster team airlock whoever they like from the other team probably has a lot to do with that, but eh. Whatever works.

So when Jack receives a call from the team working on the bloodsucking varkids that involves a lot of panicked stuttering, his first instinct is to send over the airlock codes to the other team, just to teach them a lesson. Then the stuttering caller is replaced by another person, still stuttering, but at least _comprehensible_ , and Jack gets the full story.

Turns out some guy in Corporate Relations had given his lackey the wrong lab number, and now Jack’s got a bloodsucking human problem on his hands.

When Jack makes his way over to the labs, the situation is mostly contained, or so the fumbling head scientist rushes to assure him.

“Mind explaining to me how a CR flunky managed to get through the bioscan coded only to you guys, and how he managed to get all the way to the varkids without tripping an alarm?” Jack folds his arms, and leans over a trembling scientist to peer at the screen of the security feeds.

“U-uh, we’re not sure, sir. It looks like security was remotely disabled, a-and we think that might have something to do with the vamp-, uh, the specimen’s robotic arm.” Head scientist pushes up her glasses, and points towards the top-right feed, which gives a clear view of the- did they call him a vamp?

“Were you about to call it a vampire?” Jack asks, eyes following where head scientist – god, what even is her name? Ling, Linda, Linetta? – points to see that, indeed, the specimen has a robotic arm.

“Um, sorry sir. Pascal made a joke, and it kind of stuck. Won’t happen again, sir.”

“Yeah? No, no, I like it. Normally not a big fan of superstitious skagcrap like that, but ehhh, its not inaccurate.” Jack squints at the specimen, the vamp, and asks, “So, vamp-boy over here disabled the security and walked in, the varkids in there got their bloodsucking little fangs on him, and now the parasite has a human host, huh? Wait, I thought you guys said the parasite couldn’t infect humans!” He turns to her accusingly.

“That’s what we thought, sir. The normal mode of transmission between varkids is through mutual exchange; the parasite-containing host seals its proboscis onto the potential host’s exoskeleton, and the mildly acidic end of the proboscis dissolves that exoskeleton to form a direct connection between the blood of the parasite-infested host, and that of the potential-host. What allowed for rapid transmission between varkids was their genetic similarity across colonies–”

“Ohhhhh my god, get _on_ with it,” Jack groans. “To the good stuff, c’mon! I don't have all day to hang out with you nerds.”

The head scientist coughs, and resumes. “Right, basically, for cross-species transmission, some of the potential host’s blood has to be ingested by the parasitic host, following which, the half-digested blood is regurgitated and introduced into the bloodstream of the potential host. Normally, our white blood cells take care of the parasite before it can get a hold, but it looks like our specimen was taking immunosuppressants for his new arm.”

At Jack’s blank stare, she rephrases. “His immune system wasn’t able to fight off the parasitic infection. It shouldn’t be contagious, unless you’re immunocompromised, like he was.”

“Huh.”

In front of Jack, the screen is slightly fuzzy, but still, it’s pretty clear that the young man on the screen is rather paler than normal, and clearly confused and shaken, pacing around the starkly empty cell listlessly.

“So it’s harmless, then,” Jack says contemplatively.

“Well, not…really.” At Jack’s impatient gesture, the head scientist rushes to continue. “He won’t be able to turn others, unless they’re also immunocompromised, like I said. But the effects of the parasitic takeover could still make him a danger. Heightened senses is one side effect. The wound-inflicting mechanism is another that we’re speculating on. It’s been present in various forms across the other species, according to our records, but there’s no sign of it here yet. Also the uh.” She fiddles with her glasses. “Looks like he’s already craving blood, going by his pleas.”

“Switch the sound on.”

“—hear me? Please, I’m begging you, send me some water, I’m so thirsty, oh god, so thirsty, help—” The specimen’s voice is thin, whether because of the speakers, or an effect of the thirst, Jack doesn't know and doesn’t really care. 

Jack considers him for a minute or two, ignoring the nervous shuffling of the scientists behind him as time ticks slowly by.

“Um, sir? Brian did the calculations, and based on the specimen’s mass in relation to the bloodsucking varkids’ digestive rates, we should feed the specimen within the next hour or so, if you want to keep him alive.” The scientist finally pipes up after a while.

Jack doesn’t look away from the monitors as he says, “Feed it? With blood? Is that the sound of you volunteering?”

“We were thinking, we could use some of the synthetic blood from Medical? Or- or donated blood that’s about to expire, or a combination of both.”

On the monitor, the specimen, even paler than before, gives up on banging on the door and slumps to the ground slowly, hands curled around its stomach.

Jack narrows his eyes at the screen.

“Use the synthetic blood. Give it two more hours. And call me before you feed it.”

\---

Two hours later, Jack watches with folded arms from behind the observatory glass window as the door opens and a scientist, flanked by two guards, enters the cell. The specimen, now curled on its side in one corner, shifts minutely. When the scientist pulls out a bag of blood and unseals it, the specimen’s head comes up abruptly, and Jack can’t help his sharp inhale.

The specimen’s face is surprisingly pretty and, impossibly, even paler than before, almost sheet white, and there are blue shadows under his eyes, one eye a bright blue, one brown, but both eyes _hungry_.

Jack leans forwards, pressing one hand against the glass to watch as the specimen, eyes fixed on the bag of blood, climbs to his feet, shaky and almost shivering. When the guards go forwards and take him by the shoulders, pulling his arms behind his back, he whimpers, a sound that's almost pitiful, it’s so desperate. The scientist comes forward with the bag, which now has a straw sticking out of it, and gingerly holds it to the specimen’s face, and soon the whimpering is replaced with equally desperate, wet sounds as he lunges forward to grab the straw with his mouth, and begins sucking it, moaning almost deliriously as he goes.

It’s a fascinating sight, and Jack’s eyes can’t help but linger. On the specimen’s throat, long and pale as he gulps greedily. On the red stains on his mouth, spreading as he guzzles on, heedless of the mess. On the practically catatonic expression of bliss on his face

Spinning away from the observation window, Jack stalks off, calling the scientists to heel as half-formed ideas spin in his head. Man, this is gonna be _awesome_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing 3.6k of fic instead of working on my 2.5k essay due thurs (current word count: 239 l o l) bc #priorities |:
> 
> ty my fellow sinners scootsaboot and kashuan for beta and general encouragement ilu guys
> 
> i've put spoilery details on what exactly the starvation warning in tags is for in the bottom notes, just in case, so please check if you need to!! also pls lmk if i should tag for other stuff

Three days later, Jack is reconsidering every single one of those ideas. Turns out the specimen — “Rhys, my name is _Rhys_!” — is pretty useless. Jack has report upon report detailing exactly how _harmless_ the bloodsucking parasite is in a human host. Every single one of them makes him want to toss the entire research team, and the specimen, out of an airlock, if only so he can watch them float by and get _some_ entertainment for all the money he’s pumped into them.

So all of Jack’s plans to turn the specimen into the first of his personal army of post-human bodyguards just poofs, disappears into thin air, because all the parasite does is give the specimen 1) the saddest little fangs ever, which don’t even work half the time 2) an increased sensitivity to UV light 3) the ability to go on a liquid diet and 4) mildly improved smell and hearing.

Jack scowls through the glass of the observation window at the specimen, at Rhys, who’s just sitting there, not _doing anything_ , and slams a hand on the glass. The way Rhys startles and almost falls over is entertaining, for about a second or two. Then he goes back to scowling at Jack and giving him the finger like _Jack’s_ the one being a complete waste of space here.

In reply, Jack just bares his teeth, and slams the glass again.

This time, Rhys gets up from his bed and comes over, still scowling.

“What do you want? Sir.” That last bit is tacked on as insolently as Jack has ever heard it, and it only makes his irritation grow.

“Watch it. Don’t make me cut your feedings down to twice a day again,” Jack warns. It works, Rhys flinches, and the scowl drops away. He turns his back on the window, and Jack, and starts walking back to his bed.

“Get back here,” Jack barks, slamming his hand on the window again.

“What?” Rhys turns back, folds his arms, and glares at a spot above Jack’s head.

“I’m not done with you yet,” Jack says, before turning and snapping his fingers at the cringing scientist standing behind him.

“Come _on_ , you guys have done all your tests on me already, I’m harmless, you know that, can you please just let me go home now?” Rhys groans tiredly.

“What makes you think we’re testing to make sure you’re harmless?” Jack nods at the scientist, who hurries to unlock the cell door. “We’re starting with slag first, try and see if that doesn’t make the parasite in you wake up and _do_ something.”

“W-w-wait, you’re…you’re _trying_ to make me not-harmless?” Rhys backs away from the scientist, hands raised warily.

“Yeah _duh_.” Jack follows the scientist into the cell. “Why else would we keep you?”

“I thought you were just double checking! Coming up with a meal plan or something to let me reintegrate back into society o-or something.” Rhys shakes his head, and keeps backing away until his back hits the opposite wall. “I don’t want to hurt people, I swear, I just want to go home. I wasn’t even supposed to be here! It’s all Vasquez’s fault, he’s the one who sent me- I- Handsome Jack, sir, _please_.”

Jack snorts. “Seriously? Your presence here has cost me thousands already, jerkwad. Even if it turns out you’re completely useless as a weapon, there’s no way I’m gonna let you go off happily, kiddo.”

He stands and watches, arms crossed, as the scientist goes forward and tries to place the monitoring equipment onto Rhys. Or well, tries to. He’s thwarted by Rhys, who shifts around, backing away and shoving at the scientist (with his flesh hand, Jack notes).

It’s mildly entertaining, in the same way that Henderson’s kitten fights are entertaining. In other words, fun to watch for like a minute before Jack gets bored waiting for the real blood to spill.

Jack stalks out and calls for the waiting guards to hold Rhys down, relishing the terrified look on Rhys’ face as the guards file in and grab hold of him so the scientist can stick the monitoring equipment on. It’s a good look, really, all wide eyes and trembling mouth.

When the scientist injects the slag, Rhys lets out one tiny sound before clamping his mouth shut and turning his head to stare at Jack accusingly. Jack returns the look with a thumbs up and grin of his own as he waits in excited anticipation for the slag to take effect.

It doesn’t take long before Rhys is seizing up, writhing fruitlessly in the guards’ grip, and the scientist starts scribbling down notes. Jack can hear the beeps of the machines in the observation room behind him, taking down Rhys’ heart rate and pulse or whatever; Jack hadn’t really been listening when the scientists explained. All he cares about is whether or not this will be _useful_ , because come _on_ , vampires! 

Vampires are real, Jack has one right in his grasp, and he refuses, flat out refuses to believe that he can’t turn this into an opportunity for profit. Or violence. Or violent profit, which is his favorite kind.

In any case, the slag is just kind of…disappointing. All it does is make the specimen flop around uselessly before passing out. The scientists rush to assure Jack that they will have their data recorded and compiled for him as soon as possible, but he waves them off to stare at down at the- at Rhys, lying where the guards had carefully placed him on the cell’s bed.

In the stark light of the cell, Rhys’ pale skin looks almost translucent. Jack fancies he can see the parasite in Rhys’ body working underneath the skin, hopefully adapting to the slag that he can see, dark purple lines tracing their way up Rhys’ flesh arm, and turning him into something Jack can _use_.

Jack bends down closer, watching the way Rhys’ eyelashes flutter as he dreams whatever dreams the slag gives him.

Scowling at how frigging _peaceful_ the useless little shit looks, he reaches forward and grabs a handful of Rhys’ hair, yanking his head to the side and ignoring the squawking of the scientists in the observation room. Disappointingly, Rhys, passed out as he is, doesn’t even react beyond a slight furrowing of his brows as Jack’s fist clenches in surprisingly soft brown hair.

“I don't care how many barrels of slag I’ll have to pump into you, I swear, I’m gonna make something _useful_ out of you.”

\---

“S-sir?”

“Kind of in the middle of something, over here,” Jack grunts. He waits until he’s done emptying the clip of R&D’s latest toy into the test dummy before snorting and tossing the gun off into the hands of the waiting R&D lackey. “Recoil stabilizers take too long to kick in. Otherwise, good job, none of you are getting airlocked this month, congratulations, keep going, blablabla.”

He turns to the interrupter, eyebrow raised expectantly.

“It’s about the vamp- uh, the bloodsucking specimen, sir.” The man fumbles at the echo-screen in his hand before handing it over to Jack. “He’s still refusing to- to take the um. Bait. And Dr. Lin thinks he might end up doing irreversible damage to himself if this keeps up.”

On the echo-screen, there’s a live feed of the cell in which they’re keeping Rhys. It takes Jack a second, but then he spots Rhys, curled up on his bed and barely visible on the screen. In the middle of the cell, the Dahl informant that Jack had left there is still chained to the floor, but at least he’s stopped screaming now.

Jack scowls at the barely visible blob that is Rhys, even though he knows that Rhys can’t see him.

“God _damnit_!” He snarls, and flings the echo-screen back at the scientist, who ducks just in time. The echo-screen crashes into the wall behind the scientist, who scrambles after it to pick it up.

“Tell Dr. Lin I’m heading down.” Jack doesn’t wait for a reply before he stalks out of the gun range and towards the underground labs.

When he gets there, the scientists scatter out of his way gratifyingly quickly, and he slams open the door to Rhys’ cell without any preamble.

“What the hell, Rhysie?” Jack goes over to Rhys’ bed, and scowls down at him. His scowl gets kind of hard to maintain when he gets a good, proper look at Rhys, and realizes that Rhys is…Rhys kind of looks like _crap_ now.

The thin yellow shirt and pants they’ve put him in do nothing to disguise the fact that Rhys has gone from skinny to even skinnier, almost gaunt. When Jack reaches down to turn Rhys onto his back so he can see his face, he’s almost surprised at how he can feel Rhys’ bones shifting beneath his hand. Then he sees Rhys’ face, and nearly curses.

The pretty face he’s gotten used to seeing in the corner of all the twice daily slag experimentation reports he receives from Lin and her department is a lot less pretty now, bones stark beneath thin skin and huge, bruised-looking shadows beneath his closed eyes. Jack knew from the reports that the parasite metabolized fast, but he hadn’t been expecting it to be this bad. It’s only been two days since he’d stopped the feedings, after all.

“Are you- are you seriously going to starve yourself just to spite me?!” Jack says incredulously. “C’mon, the dude’s a _Dahl informant_ , worse even than a bandit! And even if you don’t want to- god knows why because seriously, Dahl. Informant. What’s wrong with just letting Lin and her minions give you your stupid synthetic blood in exchange for your cooperation?”

“Because _my cooperation_ means letting you turn me into some kind of monster, so no thanks, I think I’ll take the slow starvation.” Rhys opens his eyes to glare up at Jack, and Jack returns the glare with a scowl of his own.

“Really? You’re Hyperion, I’ve seen your files, I know what you’ve done, and by the way, _very_ impressive, even by my standards, but _now_ you wanna grow a moral compass?” Jack lets go of Rhys’ shoulder and reaches into his boot.

Rhys huffs, his eyes sliding slowly closed again. “Not the same. I don't- Doing it yourself is different.”

“Yeah, you bet your butt it is,” Jack snorts, and pulls out the knife he’d been digging for, flicking it open with familiar ease and walking over to the Dahl informant, who cringes away from him and starts blubbering, something about kids and sorry, he’ll work for Jack, blablabla. Jack just tunes it out, reaches for the informant’s sleeve, pulls it up and slides his knife across the back of the informant’s arm without any preamble.

When he turns back to Rhys, wiping the knife clean on his pants, he wants to gloat at how Rhys is now sitting up, face turned hungrily towards where the informant’s arm is now dripping blood.

“Come on, Rhysie, just give in, that’s the ticket.” Jack keeps his voice low and steady, walking back towards Rhys and thoroughly enjoying the way Rhys tries to keep glaring at him, but his eyes keep sliding back to the informant.

Rhys swallows visibly, and his gaze fixes on the blood that Jack imagines is by now dripping onto the floor and making a hell of a mess. Eh, not his problem. His problem is sitting in front of him and still _refusing to just give in already_.

“Lookit all that blood huh, doesn’t it look good?” 

Rhys drags his gaze over to Jack, anger and hunger and humiliation stark in his gaze, and holds eye contact for all of four seconds before breaking it. He flicks his gaze over to the blood, involuntarily, before moaning and turning back over to lie down facing the wall.

“Aw come _on_!” Jack groans and rolls his eyes, going over to prod Rhys in the back. Carefully, because right now Rhys looks thin enough to break and that’s the last thing Jack wants.

Well, _physically_ break, anyway.

“Just- aren’t you hungry? Don’t you want to go over there and drink up all that delicious, delicious blood?”

Rhys’ voice is muffled from the way he’s covered his face, but the words are pretty obviously “Fuck you”, and that just makes Jack _angry_.

“Watch your language, kiddo.” Jack bends over Rhys and snarls, very softly, into Rhys’ ear. “Don’t make me lose my temper with you.”

That’s an empty threat though, because what could he do to someone already more than halfway to starvation? As he straightens up and smooths out his jacket with short, frustrated movements, he knows that Rhys knows that as well. The mounting frustration bubbling up in Jack is getting hard to swallow, a familiar sensation, and he grunts, slamming his fist against the wall above Rhys’ head in an attempt to quell it.

The way Rhys flinches is satisfying, so Jack does it again, this time entirely just to watch Rhys twitch.

As expected, Rhys flinches again, but then he whimpers, “Oh god no,” and presses his hands against his nose and mouth even harder, curling in within himself as tremors shake through his thin body.

Confused, Jack looks down at Rhys. That seemed like a really strong response; did the kid break already? That was fast. Heh.

Then the stinging in his hand makes itself known, and he looks at the fist he’d slammed into the wall. Oh, huh. The skin on his knuckles is bruised, which is expected, but there’s also a scattering of small breaks in the skin, where blood is beginning to well up, which is…less expected. Jack hadn’t thought he’d hit the wall _that_ hard.

Wait. Blood.

 _Oh_.

Grinning fiercely down at Rhys’ body, Jack takes his knife back out, and gives it one last wipe on his jacket – not the most sanitary thing, but really, Jack has more important things to think about right now – before swiping it over his palm.

Beneath him, Rhys is now very, very still.

Jack clenches his fist, enjoying the throbbing pain, the feel of his blood welling up thick and warm, and the way Rhys lets out a sob, an actual _sob_.

“C’mon, Rhysie, don’t tell me you’re gonna pass up on the opportunity to drink from me. I know you’re one of my fanboys, I’ve got files upon files of background info on you to prove it. Did you seriously once attend a convention dressed up as me? That’s rich, kiddo, hilarious, really. And even if you hate me now – which I gotta say, is gonna be real hurtful, y’know – even if you do, are you saying you don't wanna get your revenge on me? I’m the one keeping you here after all.”

Reaching down with his unbloodied hand, Jack turns Rhys over, pulls him into a sitting position. Rhys is unresisting, just lets Jack pull him up and stays there, swaying in place with his eyes closed and hands pressed against his nose and mouth.

Jack waves his bloody fist in front of Rhys’ face, and says, keeping his voice low and crooning like he’s talking to a wild animal, “I know you’re so, so hungry, but its okay, just be a good boy and give in, I’ll take care of you, I promise.”

At that, Rhys opens his eyes to glare at Jack, sunken eyebags beneath the blue and brown giving him a rather sepulchral look. Heh, vampire, undead, sepulchral. Jack grins to himself.

Whatever angry glare Rhys was giving Jack soon disappears when he catches sight of the blood, and his hands fall slowly down to his sides.

“Yesssss, that’s it, come on now,” Jack murmurs, opening his hand and holding the bloody fingers up to Rhys’ mouth. “Just give in, thaaat’s it.”

He watches with fascination as Rhys’ nostrils flare, and his breathing quickens, until the thin chest that Jack can see beneath the yellow of the t-shirt is lifting and falling so fast it's a wonder the kid’s not hyperventilating. Maybe he is, who knows? Jack doesn’t really care, honestly, because just then, Rhys leans in, just a tiny bit, and his mouth opens as he takes in a deep, gulping breath before letting out another hiccuppy sob.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Jack continues to whisper platitudes, watching in anticipation as Rhys takes one deep breath, goes back to hyperventilating, takes another deep breath, and _yes, finally_ , gives in, moaning brokenly as he grabs Jack’s bloody hand and begins to lap at Jack’s fingers hungrily.

Jack lets out a triumphant sigh as he straightens back up, making sure not to jostle the hand that Rhys is now giving a _very_ thorough licking over.

The sensations are almost ticklish, but also really- really _nice_ , and Jack is distracted from his triumph by how enjoyable it feels. Rhys’ tongue is hot and soft and wet in a really… _good_ way, running against and between Jack’s fingers and making him think of- of other things.

The desperate, clutching grip of Rhys’ hands against Jack’s wrist eases up, becomes almost gentle, as Rhys, done with cleaning off Jack’s fingers, finds the cut on Jack’s palm and begins to suck at it. The way his tongue slides against the open edges of the cut should be gross, or painful, or just plain weird, but instead there’s a warm, numbing sensation spreading out from Rhys’ tongue, adding to the pleasant sensations of Rhys’ mouth on Jack’s hand.

Jack nearly jumps at the sensation of something small and sharp prickling along the open seams of the cut, but then he realizes- right, Rhys’ fangs, the puny little things. To his disappointment, it doesn’t feel like they’ve gotten any bigger.

Still, Rhys giving in and taking human blood, and even properly using the fangs he’d had problems using on blood-bags earlier seems like a promising start. Jack tells himself, he can work with this, maybe all the parasite in Rhys needed was proper human blood instead of Medical’s synthetic nonsense to kick start its primal drive or something. And if proper human blood meant starting with _Jack’s_ , well.

Never let it be said Handsome Jack ever stood in the way of scientific progress.

While Jack’s pondering over the possibilities, Rhys, seemingly getting impatient with the slow trickle of blood coming from Jack’s palm, moves his mouth further up, sliding his prickling little fangs over the tattoo on Jack’s wrist.

“Uh uh, not there!” Jack tugs his hand back sharply. “That’s enough for today, kiddo, if you want more you’re gonna have to cooperate, ya got that?”

Beneath him, Rhys looks dazed, but definitely _healthier_ than he did before. The sunken in hollows under his eyes have filled out, though the bruised looking shadows are still there, and the ravenous look in his eyes is less animalistic, more just plain hungry now. How less than a pint after two days of starvation can make such a difference so quickly seems kind of impossible to Jack, but eh, he’s not a scientist.

Jack snaps his fingers in front of Rhys’ face. “You listening, cupcake?”

Rhys shakes the dazed look away, one hand coming up to wipe at his mouth, smearing a trail of blood down the side of his face that he doesn't seem to notice. “Y-yeah, I- aw fuck, oh no.” He looks between Jack’s hand and Jack’s face, and the crestfallen regret so stark on his face makes Jack gloat, just a tiny bit.

Okay, a not so tiny bit.

“Heh, _language_ , kiddo. Buuut you did just pretty much come back from the brink of death, so I’ll give you a pass. In fact, I’m feeling _pretty_ generous right now, so tell you what, I’ll even give you a couple of days to recover, eh, how ‘bout that?”

Giving Rhys a couple of heavy pats on the face, Jack steps back, holding himself very carefully so that he doesn’t wobble.

“No, no no no, I can’t- no _please_ ,” Rhys breathes out, reaching out to grab Jack’s hand and giving him a pleading look.

Grinning, Jack shakes Rhys’ hands off to reach forwards and wipe the blood on Rhys’ jaw off with his thumb. He slides his blood-smeared thumb towards Rhys’ lips, and to his delight, Rhys instinctively takes it in, tongue moving to swipe over the pad of his thumb even as he groans in defeat.

“ _Yep_. Face it, Rhysie, I totally won this round.” Jack presses down on Rhys’ tongue with his thumb, enjoying the way Rhys goes between suckling at it to glaring at Jack with murder in his eyes.

“See you in a couple’a days, sunshine. Looking forward to see what you’ve got for me then.”

\---

The good thing about getting in the last word, Jack muses, is that when he goes and jerks off to the memories of Rhys’ desperate expression, later in his office, it’s with the full knowledge that he already won with Rhys, so this, this isn’t losing or anything.

\---

Two days later, glaring down at his dick as he jerks it while recalling the sensations of Rhys’ tongue on his hand, Jack tells himself that this- this still isn’t losing, as long as nobody else knows.

Then he’s remembering the way Rhys whimpered “please”, and the soft, desperate look of his closed eyes as he’d sucked on Jack’s fingers, and Jack’s coming with a frustrated groan into his hand again, coming to a memory of Rhys for the fifth time in two days.

This is getting _ridiculous_.

Irritably wiping his hands clean on some tissues, Jack stands up, and calls Dr. Lin up on his echo-screen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> starvation warning is for rhys trying to starve himself to death instead of giving in and taking human blood. dont worry, it doesnt last long. lol.
> 
> ps i'm ssealdog on tumblr come say hi :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the first half of what was orig gonna be chapter 3, half bc i'm stuck on the last bit, and half bc i wanna uphold my tradition of being a cockblock ayyy
> 
> (the second half aka sex should be up within the week, depending on whether or not my exams kill me ha ha rip me)

“What do you mean, there’s a problem?”

“Sir, you might want to come down and see for yourself.” Dr. Lin’s face on the echo-screen is distracted; she keeps glancing off-screen, but it’s only when she interrupts herself to bark, “Okay, back off, he’s thrown up enough already, we’ll try again with the donated blood in an hour.”

“Wait, thrown up? Is that my specimen you’re talking about?” Jack snaps, straightening up in his seat.

“Yes, sir. Rhys, the specimen, that’s the problem I was talking about.” Lin frowns, and turns the echo-screen in her hand so Jack gets a blurry view of the window to Rhys’ cell.

It takes a second for the image to stabilize and refocus, but then it does, and Jack’s squinting at what looks like Rhys, throwing up violently into a bucket. As he watches, Rhys heaves, a painful looking contortion, and blood splatters across the edge of the bucket and onto the floor.

“What.”

Lin turns the echo-screen back to face herself, nodding tiredly. “That’s the problem I was talking about, sir. We’ve tried feeding him blood we collected from the uh, the bait, but it only made him throw up. The same thing happened with the synthetic blood, as well as the other samples of donated blood we asked Medical to send over.” She frowns, glancing again towards Rhys. “We’re not sure why he’s reacting so badly to everything we’ve been trying to feed him, but it’s…it’s not good.”

“I’ll be down in twenty.”

\---

The first thing Rhys does when Jack enters the cell is to throw up some more, over the already overflowing bucket. The second thing he does is to look up at Jack and gasp wetly, “Oh thank god.”

A very flattering way to be greeted, even with the ghoulish way blood is splattered all over the lower half of Rhys’ face, and the way he looks even worse than he had when he’d been starving himself.

Jack steps closer, frowning. “Heey buddy, how’s it going? Heard you haven’t been doing too good, huh.” He barely gets halfway across the room before Rhys is stumbling off the bed, making two steps over to Jack before he collapses onto his hands and knees. Jack pauses, suspicious, but Rhys just keeps going, crawls over to Jack with fervent desperation in his eyes.

“Jack, please, I- I’m so thirsty, please,” Rhys whimpers, managing to make it within a meter of Jack before collapsing onto the ground, thin shoulders shaking as he gasps wetly, flecks of blood spraying onto the white floor of the cell.

“Whoahohoh hey there Rhysie, it’s not my fault you’re so thirsty. Well, this time, heh. What’s up with the whole rejecting the blood we’re giving you, by the way, kinda rude, don’tcha think?” Jack steps gingerly closer, and nudges Rhys’ shoulder with his shoe.

Rhys groans, hauling himself up painfully to clutch at Jack’s knees. “I don't-- none of them _smell_ right, I tried, I swear, please.”

Lin steps into Jack’s peripheral view with a pointed cough. When Jack glances at her, she nods, and says, “It doesn’t look like his body’s rejection of the blood we give him is voluntary.”

At Jack’s feet, Rhys snorts, a little wetly, a lot pitifully, but definitely a respectable attempt at being sarcastic. “Does this _look_ voluntary to you?”

Right after he says it though, all attempts at being snide disappear as he turns his head and makes an ominous retching sound.

“Uh uh, no puking on my shoes!” Jack steps back hurriedly. “What? These babies are brand new.” He shrugs at Lin’s mildly judgmental look.

“Jack, _please_.” Rhys whimpers. “Y- I can _smell_ you, I’m- please, just a bit…” He trails off, turning his head heavily to stare up at Jack, eyes pleading.

Jack returns the gaze, frowning contemplatively, until Rhys’ eyes slide close, and he seems to pass out.

Still frowning, Jack turns to Lin and says, “Did he just say he could _smell_ me?”

Lin nods, looking between Jack and Rhys curiously. “If it’s possible, perhaps we could take a sample of your uh, your blood, sir. It looks like there’s a possibility he might not be adverse to yours, and it’s been two days since he last drank, well, since he drank your blood.”

Jack hums, and squats to prod at Rhys’ unconscious face. Curious to test out one of the first things he’d read in the reports on the parasite’s effects, he lifts up the corner of Rhys’ mouth, and pokes at the gum there, above Rhys’ currently normal looking canine. To his delight, a small fang slides out from there to cover over the original canine, barely sticking out past the normal length, but _definitely_ a lot sharper. Rhys murmurs something, still unconscious, and turns his head to take Jack’s finger into his mouth, which is as soft and hot as Jack remembers.

It’s almost…cute, or something. At least, right up until Rhys bites down and the fang sinks into Jack’s finger.

“Ow!” Jack hisses, and jerks his hand back. Unfortunately, the fang is still stuck in his finger, and the pricking sensation turns into a jagged line of pain. Fortunately, as blood starts spilling out of his cut, Rhys’ mouth opens, and the fang slips out of Jack’s finger as Rhys, still unconscious, starts licking at the blood, _Jack’s_ blood.

“What the…” Jack glares between his finger and the thin but _really annoying_ scratch on it, and Rhys, who’s now frowning and parting his lips, as if asking for more.

“Did he just--” Before Jack can finish his question, Lin hurries forward, crouching and gently but firmly pushing Jack aside to examine Rhys’ mouth using a flat wooden stick that she produces out of nowhere.

“It doesn’t look like he’s rejecting the blood this time,” she mutters, before turning to Jack excitedly. “Sir, if it’s possible, could we give him some of your blood first? If we had the luxury of time, we could test to try the others, but it’s been two days, and coupled with how he nearly starved before…” She trails off, and gestures vaguely, but Jack gets her point.

It’s annoying, really, Jack should be suspicious that of all the blood Rhys seems to want, it’s _Jack’s_ , but he’s distracted by the way Rhys is lying there, blood smeared starkly across his pale face, and by the way Rhys’ shoulders beneath the thin cloth of the yellow t-shirt look so thin. Before he even realizes what he’s doing, he’s reaching out with the hand that Rhys had just bitten, sliding the still bleeding finger into Rhys’ mouth.

The way Rhys whimpers and starts sucking at it immediately is gratifying, almost making up for the way his fangs bite onto Jack’s finger, tearing the cut open a bit more.

But just like before, there soon comes a warm, numbing sensation that dulls the pain, makes it so that all Jack feels is Rhys’ tongue, hot and soft and wet, and Rhys’ teeth a hard pressure against his finger as Rhys bites down.

The small amount of blood that Rhys has swallowed down seems to be enough to rouse him a little, because his eyes flutter open, and he blinks up at Jack dazedly.

“Wh- Jack, what’s…” Rhys gets out a few mumbled words before getting distracted by the finger in his mouth.

“Mmph,” he moans around Jack’s finger, which feels nice. Maybe a little bit _too_ nice. Jack adjusts the way he’s crouching so that his hardening erection isn’t so obvious.

Rhys’ hands come up to hold Jack’s arm, pulling it so that he can turn Jack’s finger as he continues to suck, and Jack obligingly lets him.

This time, when Rhys pulls Jack’s finger out of his mouth to start mouthing his way up Jack’s hand to his wrist, Jack doesn’t jerk away. Instead, he brings his other hand up to catch Rhys by the chin, stopping him before he can get too close to the tattoo.

“Wait, not this hand.” Jack goes to undo the clasp of the watch on his left hand instead.

Rhys obediently waits, watching with hungry eyes, but when Jack offers him his now bare wrist, all his restraint disappears, and he grabs it, tugging it towards himself and biting down on it with a satisfied sound.

Next to Jack, Lin watches on intently, typing furiously at her echopad.

In a way, Jack kind of realised beforehand that letting Rhys drink from his wrist would be different from letting Rhys lick at his hand, but he’s honestly surprised at how it feels so… _intimate_. Rhys’ mouth is as warm and soft as ever, but the way his lips move over the skin on Jack’s wrist as he bites down and begins to drink makes Jack think resignedly that he’s going to have to clear his next meeting to hole up in his office and jerk off, get it, get _Rhys_ out of his system. Then Rhys moves his head so that his fangs are no longer in Jack’s wrist, and begins to alternatively suck and lick at the cuts there, and Jack revises that estimate from “next meeting” to “rest of the day”.

Still, it’s fascinating to watch, not just the way Rhys looks as he continues to drink, somewhere between blissful and dazed, but also the way his body begins to visibly change as he gulps down mouthful after mouthful of Jack’s blood. His thin shoulders start to look less like they could snap with a hard enough prod, the sunken look of his cheeks fills out, and there’s even a hint of a rosy flush across the pallor of his skin, making him look slightly less anemic.

It doesn’t take long before Jack begins to feel a bit lightheaded, and he tugs his wrist away, gently at first, but more firmly when Rhys just whimpers and clings on.

“C’mon, that’s enough kiddo, you can let go of me now.” Jack keeps his voice as firm as possible, which is hard because between the blood loss and his (thankfully waning, because of said blood loss, but still stubbornly present) erection, it’s kind of hard to concentrate.

Rhys reluctantly lets go, fingers lingering over Jack’s wrist as he opens his eyes and slowly sits up, awareness starting to filter in.

“Jack? Wh- what’s going on?” Rhys’ voice starts off slurred, but slowly firms, and he looks around, squinting. “Oh god, what happened, why’s there so much…” He looks down at Jack’s hand, and then back up at Jack, eyebrows tilting in confusion. “Did I drink from you?”

Jack stands up carefully, grabbing onto Lin when it feels like he’s about to fall over.

“Yep, that you did, Rhysie, that you did. Also, all that blood? Was from you chucking up whatever we gave you. Very ungrateful, by the way, but well.” Done standing up, Jack goes to put his watch back on, only to be foiled by the small puncture wounds there, which are still bleeding, but a lot slower than Jack had expected them to be.

“Sir, Pascal’s got sterile swabs and bandages waiting, over there.” Lin quietly interrupts to point Jack towards the cell door and the observation room beyond. “We’ll test to see what’s different, and have a report to you by tomorrow.”

Nodding approvingly, Jack turns and heads out, pausing only at the door to glance back. Rhys, now being guided back to his bed by Lin, is watching after Jack forlornly, looking kind of pathetic with the bloody stains across his mouth.

Then a short man with the curliest hair Jack has ever seen is hurrying towards Jack with a bottle of disinfectant and a roll of bandages in his hand, and Jack turns back, closing the cell door behind him.

\---

The next evening finds Jack sitting in his office chair, tapping a pen against his lips as he watches Rhys, standing across Jack’s desk, fidget under Jack’s gaze.

Normally, Jack hates silence, prefers to have the sound of his own voice filling any given space up, but this time, he’s willing to let the heavy silence echo around his office, and watch the way Rhys tries to keep composed and fails. Jack knows his office is intimidating and large, because Jack deliberately designed it to _be_ intimidating and large, so when Rhys glances around furtively and opens his mouth, Jack holds back his grin of triumph.

“Is your office this large to compensate for something or…” Rhys trails off, waving one hand around in a manner that vaguely encompasses the entire office.

Wait, what?

Jack blinks, nonplussed. Okay, that was _not_ been what Jack was expecting.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me what I brought you up here for?” Jack asks, mildly annoyed that his dramatic tension has been punctured by this stupid little brat.

Rhys shrugs, and wraps his arms around himself. Right, the thin yellow t-shirt can’t be very comfortable in the chill of the office.

Good.

“The scientists who brought me up here looked really uncomfortable, and one of them was saying something about possibly archiving their data on me, so I assumed that you brought me up here to either kill me or…let me go?” That last bit is tentatively hopeful, and coupled with a sidelong glance at Jack.

“Y’know, even if I was gonna let you go,” Jack doesn’t miss the way Rhys flinches at his words, and he feels a little smug as he continues, pointing the pen at Rhys. “Insulting me and my office would have just changed my mind. Do you have like, zero survival instinct, or are you just really obnoxious naturally?”

Rhys laughs shortly, shrugging again. “Well, it’s not like it’s going to matter anymore, is it.”

Jack narrows his eyes at him. “You’re kinda taking the fun out of my intimidating you, cupcake. Not very sporting of you.”

“You’ve kept me in a cell and away from my friends and my home and my job for the last _god_ knows how many days, and your scientists have been poking at me with all sorts of needles and shit, and you want me to be _sporting_?” Snorting, Rhys climbs up the stairs to Jack’s desk, slamming his hands down on it and glaring at Jack. “I’ve been working in Hyperion for over four years now, and all my work’s going to go to waste because of a stupid prank, and I pretty much spent my last week alive being poked around as a lab rat, so no, being _sporting_ is not the first thing on my mind right now.”

Putting his pen back on the desk, Jack leans back in his chair and looks Rhys up and down. He’s always had a thing for the mouthy ones, and Rhys’ surprising backbone, coupled with the information in the file currently open on his desk, makes for an intriguing combination, and Jack…Jack is _into_ it.

In front of him, Rhys seems to have run out of self-righteous steam: his glare shifts, turns more uncertain, and he starts fidgeting again. His shirt clearly isn’t enough to keep him warm, going by the way his nipples are poking out underneath the thin yellow cloth. Between that, and the untied drawstring of his grey sweatpants, Jack is _supremely_ unimpressed by Rhys’ attempt at being intimidating.

Snorting at the idea of Rhys being intimidating, Jack leans forward and turns the file around and pushes it to Rhys, who picks it up with a confused frown, glancing between it and Jack.

“Go on then, read your file.” Jack waves one hand, and goes back to watching Rhys speculatively.

He watches as Rhys, still frowning, flips through the pages, and when Rhys gets to the last page, Jack leans forward and takes the file back.

“Congratulations, sweetcheeks. Turns out science has spoken, and science says you’re useless. Well, useless as a potential weapon, anyway.” Jack flips through the file one last time before tossing it behind him carelessly.

Rhys’ eyes follow the arc of the file until it lands on the floor behind Jack with a messy sounding thump, before flicking over to look curiously at Jack.

“What was that bit about being dependent on you though?” Rhys asks. “I saw your name, and something about adaptive bonding, but I’m in data mining and not biological sciences for a reason.”

“Yeah? And I’m CEO and not a scientist for a reason too. Actually, many reasons, but we both know that.” Jack shrugs. “As far as I can tell from their science-y jargon, the parasite really liked my blood or something, so now if you wanna drink, you gotta drink from me, or you’ll start chucking up everywhere again. Man, you’ve got _really_ expensive tastes, don’t you?” He grins at Rhys, who just looks irritated.

“No, this was because you fed me your blood first, wasn’t it?!” Rhys frowns. “Also, wait, I thought all of the bloodsucking parasites were wiped out! Wasn’t there a news report a couple of years- oh.” Dawning realization is a fairly nice look on him, Jack notes. “The varkids in the lab I went to, they were infected? You were experimenting on them in secret!”

“Not bad, only took you like a week to put it together.” Jack shoots a couple of fingerguns Rhys’ way, and sniggers when Rhys instinctively dodges before scowling at Jack. “Yep, you stumbled on our secret stash of bloodsucking parasites and got bit, good job. Unfortunately for you, it doesn’t like we can turn you into a weapon because you’re pretty much reliant on my blood and my blood only, and you’re also more expensive to keep than a bunch of bugs, so. Like science says, useless, and _expensive_.”

Rhys shudders, glancing around the office in what looks like desperation, and Jack finds himself hard put not to start laughing.

“Okay, so now you’re gonna what, get rid of me? Then why bring me all the way up here? Why not just- just have me killed by your scientists?” Rhys’ voice shakes a bit at that last bit, completely undermining the expression of bravado on his face.

“Why do you think I’m going to kill you?” Jack asks.

Rhys gapes at him. “Because you pretty much said so, literally not five minutes ago! And before, you said, and I quote, ‘even if it turns out you’re completely useless as a weapon, there’s no way I’m gonna let you go off happily, kiddo’.” Rhys’ voice goes all weird, and he puts on a mock scowl as he imitates Jack.

Jack scowls. “Okay, first of all, never _ever_ do that again, you sound nothing like me, and you’re just embarrassing yourself. Second, I said completely useless as a _weapon_ , didn’t I?”

The mocking scowl on Rhys’ face melts away into an expression of confusion.

Jack gets off his chair and goes right into Rhys’ personal space, sliding into the narrow gap between Rhys’ body and the desk. To his amusement, Rhys refuses to back away as Jack makes sure to brush firmly against Rhys’ body.

“Here’s the thing,” Jack sits back against the edge of the desk, and reaches up to slide two fingers along Rhys’ jawline. He doesn’t miss the way Rhys’ eyes dart to the bandage on Jack’s wrist before going back to staring curiously at Jack. “You’re pretty, and I like that. Also, you’re pretty much completely reliant on me to survive now, and I _really_ like that.” He presses his fingers against Rhys’ lips, and grins when Rhys resists for all of two seconds before sighing and letting Jack slide his fingers into his mouth, tongue going to slide against them in an almost friendly manner, entirely at odds with the disgruntled expression on Rhys’ face.

Jack strokes his fingers against the soft wet heat of Rhys’ tongue, grinning at the face Rhys makes, and continues. “So, you’ve got two choices now. One, extend your scientific uselessness to the rest of your existence, and I’ll send you down to the biohazard waste disposal system. Two, be marginally less useless, and get to fulfill your fanboy fantasies while at it. Maybe I'll even let you go back to living in normal society after a while too.”

He waggles an eyebrow expectantly at Rhys, enjoying the feel of Rhys’ mouth and the knowledge that he’s got Rhys _exactly_ where he wants him. The good feelings aren’t even spoiled by the way Rhys rolls his eyes and mumbles something about, “Not your fanboy.”

“Yeah yeah, sure, I _totally_ believe you. So, what’s your answer going to be, Rhysie?” Jack pulls his fingers out to trace a wet line down Rhys’ chin, watching for his reaction.

Rhys’ only response is to drop to his knees, keeping eye contact with Jack as he goes to undo Jack’s pants.

Grinning, Jack reaches down to tug none too gently at Rhys’ hair.

“ _Good_ boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> coming up next: [innuendo-bot voice] 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, sex.


	4. Chapter 4

Jack keeps his fingers twined in Rhys’ hair, watching as Rhys pulls Jack’s dick out of his pants and starts to pump it slowly.

“Hey.” Jack yanks Rhys’ head up. “No fangs, okay?” He grins fiercely down at the scowl Rhys gives him. “Tell you what, if you do a good enough job, I’ll even let you drink from my thigh. Not _too_ much, because you already drank some yesterday and anyway, the scientists say you shouldn’t need more than a couple of sips every once in a while now. But I hear there’s a really nice blood vessel here.” He uses his free hand to push his pants further down, using a finger to trace a line where he thinks the blood vessel is.

Rhys snorts, and takes Jack’s hand, pulling it so that the finger is pointing to a spot further inside his thigh. “It’s here, genius.”

“Really? How do you--” Jack peers down curiously. The skin on his thigh looks all the same to him, tan beneath the hair there, but then he’s never really looked carefully at it before.

“Yeah, I can--” Rhys leans forward and licks a line along where Jack’s finger is pointing. “I can smell it, smell you, and you…you smell _good_ ,” he sighs, and looks up at Jack, eyes wide and already beginning to glaze over. “Would you really?”

“Yeah, I said I would, didn’t I?” Jack uses his hand in Rhys’ hair to pull his attention back to the issue at hand. “Come on now, back to work.”

Rhys obliges, giving Jack’s cock one small lick before taking it into his mouth, bringing his left hand up to hold it in place as he starts to suck.

Sighing, Jack tilts his head back to stare at the ceiling, left hand going back to support himself against the desk as Rhys bobs up and down. The wet heat of Rhys’ mouth that Jack had jerked himself off to only a couple of days earlier is as good as he thought it’d be on his cock. Better even, with the way Rhys is using his tongue to press against the tip before swirling it around his cockhead, and the way his flesh hand alternates between holding the base of Jack’s dick, and going to massage at his balls.

The sounds are pretty good too, sloppy and wet, and getting sloppier, wetter, more enthusiastic as Rhys gets into it. And Rhys _definitely_ seems to be getting into it, moaning around Jack’s cock like he had at his first taste of Jack’s blood.

When Jack glances down, he realizes that Rhys is rubbing his mechanical hand against his crotch. “Hey, hey now.” He lifts one foot to nudge Rhys’ hand aside, revealing a darker splotch where Rhys’ flatteringly hard cock presses up against the grey material of his sweatpants. “None of that, this is _me_ time, you can have yours later.”

Rhys slides off Jack’s dick with an obscene popping sound, and glares at Jack. “Come on, seriously?! I can’t even touch myself now?”

Jack uses his free hand to tap his dick against Rhys’ cheek, smearing precome everywhere and cackling when Rhys flinches away instinctively. “Not without my permission, sweetheart.” He watches with interest at the way Rhys’ eyes dilate at that, whether at the nickname or the command, Jack doesn’t know, but he definitely plans to find out. “The faster you get me off, the faster you get to drink and come, I’m just saying.” He pauses. “Or come and drink, I dunno, up to you.”

Rhys rolls his eyes, but goes back to sucking, and that’s what really matters. As a reward, Jack starts playing with Rhys’ hair, tugging at the soft brown strands and carding his fingers through them. He can’t help but snort when it makes Rhys close his eyes and shudder, moaning around Jack’s cock.

Glancing down to make sure that Rhys isn’t touching himself, Jack goes back to leaning against his desk and losing himself in the sensations and sounds, feeling himself ebb closer and closer to orgasm. It doesn’t take as long as it normally would, because yesterday, all of Jack’s plans for masturbation after Rhys’ little wrist biting incident were foiled by how the blood loss made it hard for him to keep his erection up, so Jack has a _lot_ of sexual frustration.

Good thing for him he now has Rhys to help him with that.

Sighing happily at the prospect of sex whenever he wants without all the hassle of having to go out and find somebody, Jack sits back up again. He brings both hands down to Rhys’ head, and slows down Rhys’ current fast, sloppy pace.

Rhys looks up through his eyelashes at Jack, one eyebrow raised, before shrugging and slowing to a halt with only the head of Jack’s cock lying on his tongue. He even takes his flesh hand off Jack’s cock and places it on Jack’s hip without Jack even having to tell him to.

“Not bad, pretty fast on the uptake, huh.” Jack gets a firmer grip on Rhys’ hair with both his hands, and begins to pull Rhys back down again slowly, savoring the heat and wetness as Rhys swallows around his dick, leisurely at first, but then more frantically as Jack continues to pull him down. Jack doesn’t stop though, not until Rhys’ eyes are watering, and the spasms of his throat around the head of Jack’s cock get really panicked, and _then_ he pulls Rhys off, enjoying the way Rhys gasps and coughs. He waits for Rhys to get himself together, and when Rhys finally looks up through watery eyes to nod his readiness, Jack grins, and pulls him down again.

They repeat the cycle for a while, Rhys managing to make it further down with every round, until he’s eventually got Jack’s entire length down his throat, nose pressed at the base of Jack’s dick, his shallow, helpless breaths ruffling the hair there in time with the way he’s swallowing frantically around Jack’s cock. Jack watches in satisfaction as Rhys’ eyes well up, tears spilling out to fall down his cheeks as he blinks rapidly, throat fluttering and squeezing around Jack’s cock

The sight of Rhys’ wide, mismatched eyes, staring up at Jack as he swallows desperately around Jack’s cock does the trick, and Jack comes down Rhys’ throat with a harsh exhale that tapers off into a groan as Rhys continues to swallow around him, the contractions of his throat milking Jack’s cock steadily.

When the contractions begin to become too much on sensitive skin, he lets go of Rhys’ head, and Rhys pulls off, coughing and wheezing as he wipes at the sticky saliva and precome over the lower half of his face.

Jack slides shakily to the floor, pushing Rhys away to the side as he goes, until he’s sitting on the floor with his back against the desk.

“Ohhhh Rhysie, that was, mm, that was a pretty good start.” Jack sighs contentedly before turning his head to face Rhys, who’s collapsed to a sitting position beside Jack, and is now massaging at his knees gingerly.

“Yeah? Thanks, I try,” Rhys says drily, an effort somewhat mitigated by the tent in his pants and the growing wet patch there.

“Keep running that smart mouth of yours and see where it gets you,” Jack snorts, before wriggling his pants further down his legs. “Hey, do me a favor and help me get my shoes off, will you?”

Rhys scowls at Jack, but when Jack points at his thigh and raises an eyebrow, he gets the hint, and practically falls over himself to help.

It doesn’t take long before Jack’s pants are wrestled off and folded under Jack’s butt so he doesn’t have to deal with the cold floor, and then Jack’s parting his legs and beckoning Rhys over to kneel between them.

When Rhys comes close enough, fangs poking out against his lower lip and eyes already glazed over, Jack pulls him in with two hands around his neck and shakes him until he looks less dazed.

“Ow, what?! Come on, you said you’d let me…” Rhys trails off, eyes darting down to Jack’s bare thigh longingly.

“Yeah, and I’m gonna, have some patience, pumpkin.” Jack tightens his grip around Rhys’ neck, and waits until Rhys makes eye contact with him to continue. “Just wanted to give you a friendly reminder that if you get any funny ideas, you should probably toss them right out the airlock, eh? Not just because if I go, you go soon after, but because me going? Is going to be _very_ unlikely.” He reaches into his jacket, and pulls out a small syringe, filled with faintly luminescent purple liquid.

“You know what this is?” At Rhys’ nod, Jack continues. “Turns out the parasites are really, really susceptible to eridium. Like, it puts them into overdrive and they end up multiplying too fast for the host’s body to maintain, kinda like a kamikaze thing, you know? I mean, the scientists have only ever tried it on the bloodsucking varkids, but hey, should work the same for you too.” He tilts the syringe back and forth, watching as Rhys watches the faintly glimmering purple liquid with distaste.

“Is this really necessary?” Rhys frowns, finally looking away from it to give Jack an affronted glare. “I’m not going to _do_ anything, god. You die, I starve and die soon after, remember?”

“I dunno, maybe you have a grudge against me for keeping you as a _lab rat_ , sound familiar?” Jack tosses Rhys’ own words back at him, and pointedly places his hands on Rhys’ shoulders, watching the way Rhys flinches from the syringe next to his left ear. “Just a safety precaution, cupcake.”

“Is…is this a threat?” Rhys narrows his eyes at Jack.

“Uh, yeah _duh_!” Jack scowls. “Seriously, how dumb are you?”

“No, I know its like, a threat, what I meant was, is this a _threat_ threat?” Rhys grimaces. “Like, are you trying to hint that you’ll kill me once you’ve gotten what you wanted?”

“Rhysie, just earlier you were all resigned to me killing you, what happened?” Jack gasps in mock horror before laughing. “Nah, don’t worry, you continue to give me stellar blowjobs and you’ll be fine. I’m not in the habit of tossing away people who are useful to me.” He pauses. “Wait, scratch that, I’ve totally done that before. Okay, I’m not in the habit of tossing away people who give me great orgasms, how about that?”

He hadn’t actually expected that to be comforting, but weirdly enough, Rhys seems to relax a bit.

“I can work with that,” Rhys says, tilting his head and giving Jack a small grin.

Huh. What a weird kid.

“You’re weird, kiddo,” Jack says it out loud, shaking his head. “Well, good talk, are we all done with it?” He pats his thigh. “Come on then, cupcake, its dinner time.”

Jack grins at the offended expression on Rhys’ face. “What, was it the cupcake or the dinner thing that didn’t work?”

“Both.” Rhys scowls, but then he’s bending down, wriggling until he’s lying between Jack’s spread legs, one arm around the outside of Jack’s leg, the other balancing lightly against Jack’s stomach.

“That…does not look comfortable.” Jack points out, but it doesn’t seem to stop Rhys, who merely shrugs and leans down to lick at Jack’s bare thigh.

Opening his mouth wide, Rhys looks up to give Jack one last glance. At Jack’s nod, he sinks his fangs into Jack’s thigh, and lets out a muffled moan before he seals his mouth over skin, and begins to drink.

Jack runs a hand through Rhys’ hair as he continues to watch, fascinated by the way Rhys lets the blood well up before lapping it up, and then presses down on the skin around it to make the blood well up again before repeating the cycle. As with before, the numbing sensation makes it so that all Jack feels is wetness and heat and pressure, no pain, and it’s kind of pleasant, almost.

Turns out, drinking from the thigh is a lot messier than drinking from the wrist, and Jack wants to laugh at the sight of Rhys’ face, eyes dazed and blood smeared all over the lower half mixing with the precome and saliva from before to make one hell of a mess. What stops him is the fact that the sight is…kind of really turning him on right now, perhaps because of the sounds Rhys is making, not all that different from when he’d been sucking Jack’s dick, or perhaps because of Rhys’ expression, blissful and languid as he continues to mouth at Jack’s thigh.

Well, turned on is one thing, being able to do anything about it another thing entirely. Jack frowns, making a note to himself to always make sure that he gets to come before letting Rhys drink, because it would _really suck_ to get carried away and let Rhys drink first, only for Jack to get blue balls.

Still, Lin’s hypothesis about the amount of blood Rhys needed now seems to have borne out. It takes a lot less blood than it had yesterday before Rhys is pulling away of his own volition, giving Jack’s thigh one last parting lick before wiping at his mouth. Once he’s done wiping his face into a marginally cleaner state, he drops his head heavily down onto Jack’s thigh and looks up at Jack, expression stupidly soft and vulnerable.

“You okay there, buddy?” Jack says, as obnoxiously saccharine as he possibly can.

In his lap, Rhys just nods slowly, right hand patting absently at Jack’s stomach.

“You taste…” Rhys sighs. “I should be grossed out by the fact that I’m drinking blood, but _god_ do you taste good.”

“Yeah?” Jack says, feeling kind of smug at the compliment, bizarre though it is. “I can tell, kitten, you’re pretty much humping my leg right now.”

Rhys pauses from where he actually literally is humping Jack’s leg, and has been the entire time he was drinking, to lift his head and glare at Jack. “I-I’m not _humping your leg_!”

“Uhhuh, still are, nice try.” Jack tugs Rhys up, off Jack’s leg. “Need a hand there? Or should I say, a leg?” He sniggers at Rhys’ indignant expression. “Seriously, take your pick before I get bored. I’ve got a company to run, Rhysie, no time to sit around and wait for you to decide how you wanna get off.”

Rhys flushes, an attractive pink that spreads over his cheeks and down his neck, but then he’s kneeling up and placing his hands on Jack’s shoulders tentatively.

“Um, hands, I guess?” Rhys glances down at Jack’s hands before looking Jack in the eye. “You’ve got nice hands, I uh. I’ve…” he trails off, and runs one hand through his hair, looking off to the side uncomfortably.

“Let me guess, you’ve always dreamed of getting Handsome Jack’s hands all over you,” Jack says gleefully. “I knew it, you’re a fanboy, you frickin _weirdo_! Come on, tell me all your fantasies, ohhh man, this is gonna be fun.”

Rhys clamps his mouth shut, but he’s still blushing and not looking Jack in the eye, so Jack takes matters into his own hands.

Literally.

He palms at the wet spot on Rhys’ sweatpants, feeling the way Rhys’ dick twitches as he puts pressure on it.

Rhys gasps, and hunches over, hands clutching at Jack’s shoulders.

“Come on now, tell me, did you ever dream of getting fucked by the big bad CEO?” Jack tugs Rhys’ sweatpants down enough to pull out his dick, which is as pink as his face, and flatteringly hard in Jack’s hands. He reaches up with one hand to tilt Rhys’ chin up so that he can look him in the eye, while his other hand begins to slowly play with Rhys’ cock.

“Was it over this desk right here? Or was it in the Hall of Heroism, in front of everybody?” Jack tugs at Rhys’ foreskin, toying with it carelessly as he watches Rhys frantically try not to make eye contact. “I’m not gonna touch you properly until you tell me, you know.”

“No, please!” Rhys _finally_ makes eye contact for a fleeting second before he’s flushing even redder, and looking down to watch the way Jack’s gripping his dick loosely.

“Still waiting,” Jack hums. He uncurls his fingers from around Rhys’ cock slowly, one finger at a time. “Offer’s expiring once I let go completely, I’m just saying.”

“No! Okay, okay!” Rhys cries out. “It was your desk, you were- you would fuck me over your desk!”

“ _Good_ boy,” Jack says approvingly, before he tightens his grip and begins to stroke in earnest.

Above him, Rhys moans, eyes sliding shut as he thrusts raggedly into Jack’s grip.

“A bit unoriginal, but we all have to start somewhere, I suppose.” Jack waits a couple more seconds before he begins to loosen his grip again.

It takes Rhys a bit of time before he catches on, and the dismay on his face as he thrusts helplessly into Jack’s too loose grip makes Jack laugh.

“Keep talking, go on.”

“Ah, damnit!” Rhys groans.

It doesn’t seem to have occurred to Rhys to use his own hands, which are now grasping at Jack’s shoulders, so Jack kindly doesn’t point it out.

“Okay, god, you would…you would fuck me over your desk, and then make me ride you in that chair after I came.” The words rush out of Rhys in a single breath, and he inhales sharply when Jack rewards him by tightening his grip again.

“I- you would pull my hands behind me, make me come again, just from riding you.” Rhys’ breath hitches as Jack adds a twist to his hand’s movements, and when Jack moves his other hand from holding Rhys’ chin to nudge Rhys’ legs apart so he can play with his balls, he lets out an actual sob.

“ _That’s_ it, come on now kiddo.”

“Ha-ah, that’s what you’d say, you’d call me kiddo, tell me I was your good boy,” Rhys chokes out, eyes squeezed shut and lips parted as he pants, hands tightening on Jack’s shoulders. It’s a _very_ good look on him, especially when coupled with his flushed face and messy hair.

“Oh? I can do that, but only if you’re being good of course.” Jack grins. “Have you been good, Rhysie?”

“Yes! I’ve been good, _please_ …” Rhys’ hands tighten on Jack’s shoulders, almost painfully. “I drank only a bit, like you told me to, I swear!”

“That’s true, you did.” Jack switches hands so his right hand can go down to trace the soft skin behind Rhys’ balls. “You were very good, weren’t you?”

“Please, y-yes! I’m so close, Jack please!” Rhys sobs.

“Yeah? Come on then, I’m waiting.” Jack squeezes the head of Rhys’ dick with one hand while he presses two fingers of his other hand against Rhys’ hole.

That does the trick; Rhys flings his head back, straightening up, and thrusts unevenly once, twice, before he’s coming all over Jack’s hand with a shaky cry, hands clutching at Jack’s shoulders and mouth parted in a way that makes Jack want to _bite_ at it.

Once he’s done milking the last few drops of come out, Jack wipes his hand clean onto Rhys’ t-shirt, and pokes at Rhys, now slumped against Jack’s chest, until he sits back up and opens his eyes to glare blearily at Jack.

“Come on now, get up, I gotta go back to work.” Jack wrinkles his nose. “And probably take a shower, clean up your mess. You too, actually.” He glances down to see that the bleeding on his thigh has completely stopped, the small puncture wounds scabbed over a lot faster than they normally would. Right, Lin’s reports did say something about that; Jack really should start paying attention to them beyond the summaries at the beginning. 

“Mmph, god, okay.” Rhys drags himself to his feet, pulling his sweatpants back up and wiping at his come-covered shirt with a moue of distaste. “Now what?” He offers a hand to Jack, who takes it and lets Rhys pull him up to a standing position.

“Now, I go take a shower in my office’s private bathroom before I get back to work, and _you_ get to go back down to the holding cells. Not the lab ones from before though, so I hope you made your goodbyes to Lin and co.” Jack puts the syringe on his desk and strips off his jacket, throwing it into a corner of the office as he heads towards the bathroom wearing only his shirt and socks.

“No! I mean, please don’t.”

Jack turns around to stare at Rhys, raising an eyebrow at Rhys’ panicked expression. “Why not? I can’t exactly have you running around letting everybody know I’ve got bloodsuckers hidden in R&D now, can I. And I’ve reassigned Lin and her staff back to the varkids, since it’s apparently cheaper and more _ethical_ to conduct research on them instead of, well, you.” Jack makes a face at the memory of his ethics board representative’s lecture.

In front of him, Rhys fidgets, picking nervously at the hem of his come-smeared shirt. “Okay, but. It’s really-” He takes a deep breath, and looks up to make eye contact with Jack. “What do I have to do to not have to go back? I swear, I can keep it a secret, I’ll say I went on assignment to Pandora the last week or so, and I’ll come back here whenever you want, just please don’t make me go back there!”

Jack frowns, studying Rhys’ face. Rhys just watches him back, eyes darting between Jack’s and eyebrows tilted in a way that made him look really…young. Scowling, Jack turns away, and heads into the bathroom.

“Fine. I’m moving you to my apartments. You can stay there while I finalize the paperwork,” he calls over his shoulder, not waiting to see if Rhys follows.

“Paperwork?”

“Yep, congratulations, kitten. You’re getting a promotion.” Jack strips out of his shirt and socks, and starts the bath running before turning to face Rhys. “You’re now going to be my assistant secretary, you’re welcome.”

“Assistant…secretary?” Rhys frowns.

“All of the salary and perks, none of the actual secretary work.” When Rhys still doesn’t seem to get it, Jack scowls, and says, “It just means you’ll be quote unquote _working_ in my office, dumbass. Easy access for the both of us, me for sex, you for food. And sex too, I guess. So for now, you get to follow me from home to work and back, yay! Once I’m sure I can trust you to keep your mouth shut, I’ll let you go back to your old job and apartment and stuff.” He waves his hands vaguely before raising his eyebrows at Rhys expectantly.

“I, uh.” Rhys looks between Jack and the bathtub, still looking confused.

Rolling his eyes, Jack turns back to the bathtub, checking the temperature before sliding in with a sigh and closing his eyes. “It’s really not that hard to understand, pumpkin. Don’t make me regret my decision.”

He hears Rhys sigh almost inaudibly before the water moves, and he opens his eyes to see Rhys kneeling beside the tub, flesh hand trailing in the water near Jack’s chest as he watches Jack’s face intently. When Jack makes eye contact, he shrugs, and says, “It’s better than going back to the cells.”

“You’re getting a pay raise to essentially sit around my office and have sex with me.” Jack points out. “It’s not just better, it’s _awesome_ , and I’m awesome for coming up with it. Feel free to appreciate my genius anytime.”

Rhys snorts, and stands to strip out of his t-shirt and sweatpants, tossing them into the same corner where Jack threw his shirt. Jack watches on appreciatively. His eyes catch on Rhys’ legs, and he wonders how they’d feel wrapped around Jack’s waist. Guess they'll find out soon enough.

When Rhys turns around and catches Jack watching, he raises an eyebrow, which Jack responds to with a shrug and a wink. At that, Rhys smiles, small and a bit uncertain, but a smile nonetheless, one that turns more certain when he glances down to see Jack’s slowly filling erection. He reaches down into the water and curls his fingers loosely around Jack’s cock.

“Well then. Guess I could start showing my _appreciation_ now.”


End file.
